


Reckoning

by veronamay



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Blacksmithing, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Swords & Fencing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-07
Updated: 2003-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been slightly unkind to Elizabeth, I think, but she's not a total heinous bitch.  Many thanks go to <a href="http://charliequinn.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://charliequinn.livejournal.com/"><b>charliequinn</b></a> and <a href="http://lydia-petze.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://lydia-petze.livejournal.com/"></a><b>lydia_petze</b> for beta services.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> I've been slightly unkind to Elizabeth, I think, but she's not a total heinous bitch. Many thanks go to [](http://charliequinn.livejournal.com/profile)[**charliequinn**](http://charliequinn.livejournal.com/) and [](http://lydia-petze.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lydia-petze.livejournal.com/)**lydia_petze** for beta services.

Two months after the _Black Pearl_ put Port Royal to her stern, a package arrived in Tortuga. It was addressed simply to Captain Jack Sparrow, delivered to a certain tavern with instructions to keep it safe until Captain Sparrow should return. Ordinarily, "safe" was not a word that applied to anything in Tortuga, but what was Jack’s was unquestionably Jack’s, and so the package remained untouched.

Jack himself stumbled into his favourite pub some six weeks later, once again on the wrong side of Anamaria's sharp tongue and calloused hand, seeking nothing more than the comfort of rum and perhaps a willing bedmate for the night. He barely noticed when the barkeep dropped the oilskin-wrapped package on the bar in front of him with one hand, pouring him a drink with the other. The rest of the patrons, however, fell silent as they watched him. It was this unusual lack of noise and heads-beaten-in-ery that finally roused his attention from the rum.

He swiveled in his seat, then immediately wished he hadn't. Wooden stools were not kind to threadbare trousers, nor the skin beneath.

"What are you all staring at?" he asked politely. "Never seen a famous pirate before?"

Then he noticed what they were actually looking at, next to his right hand on the bar, and blinked.

"Barkeep!" he said loudly, and the man jumped. "What is this?"

"Package for you, Jack," came the quick reply. "Been here for nigh on two months now. We never touched it," the barkeep added hastily, but Jack wasn't listening.

He made a valiant effort to focus his eyes on the package without actually turning back around on the stool. There was a clearly written label on the front of the thing, but since he couldn't read anyway the question of whose name it was didn't really matter.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" some bold soul yelled from the back of the room. Jack sat up straighter, suppressing a wince as his backside gained new splinters, and drew his brows down into what he thought was a menacing glare.

"Maybe later, mate," he said. "Right now, what I want is a drink." And he thumped his empty mug down on the bar.

* * *

Curiosity was eating away at every man in the room. Yet Jack sat and drank, sat and drank, until even the hardiest of sailors begged for quarter and staggered into the alleyway to fall in heaps, snoring so loudly the reverberations shook the tavern walls. When there were but three whores and the barkeep left awake, Jack finally stood up, picked up the package, and left – without paying his bill.

He knew what it was as soon as he looked at it, and who it was from. And that was why he hadn't opened it in front of half of Tortuga. Even now, at some ungodly hour of the night after he'd drunk the tavern dry, he was cautious and stealthy in his way to a dark stable, closely hugging his prize.

At least, he thought he was being cautious and stealthy. In reality, the racket he made simply crossing the street was enough to rouse the inhabitants of every bawdy house in the harbour. But it was cold outside, and nobody cared enough to investigate the noisy shambling of another drunken sot. So Jack crept into his hideaway, sat in a patch of moonlight and tore at the wrappings without further ado.

* * *

As it turned out, he wasn't much of a pirate after all. He was a blacksmith and a swordsmith, and while these were not things to be sniffed at, neither were they exciting or gaspingly shocking occupations. So it was after all not much of a surprise when, shortly after their simple wedding, Elizabeth quietly removed herself from their modest lodgings above the smithy and informed him of her intention to return to London with her father when his term of governorship ended. Even less of a surprise was the news that Commodore Norrington intended to resign his commission and follow them, whereupon Will surmised there would shortly be an annulment followed by a more suitable wedding, at some mist-wreathed church near Hyde Park in the middle of next May.

The good governor had overseen the withdrawal of Elizabeth's possessions, and when he was done Will shook his hand, escorted him to the door, and got very, very drunk.

The idea appeared fully formed in his head when he finally sobered enough to see it; two days passed before he could trust himself to wield his tools, but immediately thereafter he set to work. It had taken him many hours, endlessly shaping and beating and shaping again, late into the night for weeks until the ring of the hammer followed him into sleep and his muscles were always tensed for the next blow on the anvil. He paid no mind to the pain; it was a distraction and that was good, and it pleased him to create something for Jack, who had helped him win his lady fair. It was hardly Jack's fault Will was unable to keep her.

The double-edged blade was the best thing he'd ever produced; perfectly suited to Jack's hand and height, light enough for quick swordplay yet strong enough to slice a man's head from his neck. Will spent yet more hours after it was done with whetstone and oiled cloth until the steel shone and sang and cut the air in two. He'd studied Jack closely during their time aboard the _Interceptor_ (for reasons other than simple curiosity, his mind whispered), and he knew how the pirate moved. This sword would be an extension of his body, an extra right hand where Will himself could not be.

As a final touch, he carved a tiny sparrow into the pommel. Then he wrapped it, addressed it, and gave a good portion of this month's profit to see that it would be delivered where it was meant to go.

* * *

Jack could barely feel the blade in his hand. He was blinded by it, obsessed with its feel, the fineness of the edges, how it moved with him like a thought given flesh.

This had taken everything Will had. He would have nothing left, now. And what of dear Elizabeth?

Jack gazed into his own eyes reflected in the blade.

"Well, lad," he said to himself, "I know a cry for help when I hear it." But should he go? He was a pirate, after all.

"Ah, but I'm not just any pirate," he argued. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. And I can go where I please, mate."

That seemed to settle it, then.

* * *

Will woke on the floor of his smithy, aching in every muscle and suffering the worst hangover he'd ever experienced, in his admittedly short acquaintance with rum. There was a dull hammering coming from outside the door, magnified threefold in his pounding head and making him more than a bit queasy. He stumbled to his feet and opened the door with nothing more on his mind than to tell whoever it was to go the hell away.

Elizabeth gazed at him from within a pool of sunlight. Will gazed dumbly back at her, then turned to one side and was violently ill.

She wrinkled her nose and stepped to the side, then leaned in to lay a hand on his back.

"Are you all right?"

Stupidest question ever voiced, thought Will, being unable to speak just at that moment. He groaned and retched again, feeling utterly miserable as the remains of the drink left his stomach.

"Rum," Elizabeth said, her disgust clear in her voice. "What is it about men and rum?" She straightened up and stepped away from him.

"Would you feel better if it was wine instead?" Will asked, gasping for breath. He began to feel better almost instantly, now that his belly was empty. "If I'd drunk away half a year's profit to the same result this morning, what would that prove? That I'm a better class of drunk than the men on the docks?"

Elizabeth stared him down, heartbreakingly beautiful and utterly untouchable. He remembered when the sight of her like that used to fuel his dreams.

"At least you can admit you are a drunk," she shot back. "That's progress, I suppose."

"I must face the consequences of my actions, must I not?" Will asked, pulling off his shirt and wiping his mouth on it. Elizabeth averted her eyes and he smiled.

Jack must have received his gift by now. He hoped it was worthy.

"What do you want, Elizabeth?" he said now. "Surely there's nothing left here for you. Your father saw to that when he collected your possessions."

Elizabeth bit her lip, the first sign of uncertainty he'd seen in her for months. "I – I wanted to see if you were all right," she said, her voice low. "Before we left. The ship sails in two hours."

Will sank to the floor in a graceless sprawl and waved a hand around the disheveled smithy.

"I am living like a king," he said. "Don't worry for me for a moment, Elizabeth. I shall be perfectly content."

It was a lie, of course, but that didn't matter. He met her troubled gaze without a flicker of hope in his heart. Elizabeth was leaving on the noon tide with her father and the good Commodore Norrington, who would no doubt be a great help in the acquisition of a speedy annulment the moment they set foot on English soil. And Will would stay here in Port Royal, tending his smithy and drinking all the rum he could stomach to try and drown out the sound of the Caribbean on his doorstep. For while he might not have made a good pirate, neither could he forget the new wanting that stirred in him at the thought of the sea.

Elizabeth seemed to hesitate, looking down at him as he covered his eyes with his hands and tried to press the memories into the back of his mind by physical force.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," she said at last. "I'm sorry for that."

He laughed, and her face tightened. She swept past him toward the door.

"Goodbye, Will."

The sound of her footsteps was long gone by the time he had voice to answer.

"Goodbye, Elizabeth."

* * *

This time, Captain Jack Sparrow's entrance into Port Royal was the grand spectacle he'd always wanted it to be. No leak-ridden boats or clap-him-in-irons; now there was the Pearl, bold and dangerous as her captain, sailing proudly into the harbour with black sails furled, a prim housewife hiding her decadent petticoats before strangers. It was heartening to see the way the harbourmaster cowered as he stepped onto the wharf, and his stride became even more jaunty as he passed through the streets and strong men failed to meet his gaze.

He remembered the way to the smithy. It was very nice not to have to run for it this time.

"Will Turner!" he roared, banging on the door. "Come out of there, you mangy dog!"

People stopped on the street to stare at him. Jack's grin widened. The door opened, slowly, and Will stood framed in its absence.

"Jack Sparrow," he said slowly, meeting Jack's eyes. "It's been some time."

" _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, if you please," Jack corrected. "I hope you're still in good shape, lad. I've come today for a reckoning, savvy?"

He threw aside his coat-tail and drew the sword Will had made for him. It flashed through the air, singing lightly on the breeze. Will stared at it for a moment as if transfixed. Jack tapped him on the shoulder with the flat of the blade.

"Wake up, lad!"

Shaking his head, he looked back up at Jack, in time to catch the barest hint of a wink. Then a reckless smile lit across his face, and he held up one hand.

"Just one moment."

He disappeared inside the smithy, returning moments later with a sword to match Jack's own. Ignoring the people surrounding them, they stepped down into the street and faced each other, their steel glinting in the sun.

"A fair fight?" Will asked, eyebrow raised.

Jack's answering grin was pure wickedness. He pointed to himself.

"Pirate."

"As long as we know where we stand, then," Will said, and struck.

* * *

Will would've liked to say afterward that it was the most wondrous fight ever witnessed by the eyes of man. Unfortunately, he was out of shape, and hung over to boot.

It was over very quickly.

He looked up at Jack from his position on the ground, the sun half-blinding him. This was not the way he'd pictured their reunion.

"Yield," he grunted, and the sword fell from his hand. The point of Jack's blade rested lightly on his throat.

"Up," Jack invited.

He got slowly to his feet, aware that Jack wasn't laughing now. The crowd – when had it become a crowd? – fell silent.

"Jack?" he asked. This didn't have the feel of a performance anymore; what was Jack thinking?

"I've just beaten you in a fair fight, lad," Jack said, still marking him with the blade. He tilted the sword in acknowledgement. "You challenged me, and you lost. That makes you my prisoner, according to the Code."

Will thought about that. "Which part of the Code?" he said. "I don't remember Gibbs saying anything about—"

"My Code," Jack said softly, and a trickle of blood ran down Will's chest and disappeared into his shirt. "Savvy?"

Will met his eyes again, and saw something hiding in the black depths. He looked around at the townspeople he'd known for eight years, the sturdy respectability of their houses and businesses, the solid protectiveness of the fort on the cliff and the governor's house behind. And there, past Jack's shoulder, between the cooper's and the cheaper tearoom, he caught the sight and smell of the ocean.

"Yes sir, Captain Sparrow, sir," he said, and put his hands up.

Jack motioned him down toward the harbour.

"Get moving."

He looked for a moment longer into Jack's veiled gaze, flickering between his bloodied chest and his own eyes for an endless moment.

He went.


End file.
